What Father Alazon Lustlieb discoveredon April 1, 1978, in that hallowed cave overlooking Bear Lake, was a set of twelve ancient sheepskin Scrolls, neatly arranged within the folds of what he later described to his four disciples as “a very old briefcase.” When we pressed him for an estimate of the age of that briefcase, he judged it to be four thousand years old, “give or take fifty years.” He conceded that this was an estimate, and that the angel Michelle had provided him no information about the history of the documents. He added that the probable reason for her silence on this question was that, in order to preserve the aura of mystery with which divine manifestations are always attended, angels do not reveal the minor details of their revelations to prophets.

The briefcase, he emphasized, had never been opened. He verified this opinion by citing the expert testimony of a certified Beverly Hills locksmith (he could not remember her name). Once she had disengaged the rusty clasp, Father Lustlieb said, he paid her, quietly left the back room of her establishment (secrecy, he emphasized, was extremely important), went back to his uncle’s mansion, stole unobserved into the wine cellar (secrecy again being the motive), opened the briefcase, and found a trove of twelve ancient sheepskin Scrolls, all of them perfectly preserved. Each scroll was secured with a royal blue waxen seal, on which was stamped a single Ur-Hebrew word, aleph $ taw, for which there is no English equivalent. Each seal was also stamped with a tiny Ur-Hebrew number, indicating, he surmised, the order in which the Scrolls were to be translated and positioned within the finished text.

What follows in the main body of this volume are Father Lustlieb’s translations of those twelve sacred Scrolls, including the titles, which were present in the original. 
 

That a dropout from a rabbinical school in upstate New York, an ordinary young man with the ordinary young ambition of moving to Hollywood and becoming a film star, should be chosen to discover and translate the now-famous Bear Lake Scrolls and then to establish what quickly has become the fastest-growing religion in America, seems incredible. I must confess that when Father Lustlieb first told me his story, I too was skeptical. In fact, I thought it was a joke. But after spending eleven years in his illustrious presence and giving his testimony careful and prayerful study, I am convinced that Alazon Lustlieb was exactly who he claimed to be: a true prophet, and an authentic saint.

​Naturally, I do not expect anyone to embrace my conviction without weighing the evidence. In our last private conversation, Father Lustlieb confided that he was depending on me, his most trustworthy and capable disciple, to prove his legitimacy and to dispel the malicious rumors that were already beginning to arise about the origin of the Scrolls. He made it clear that he expected that when I came to publish this, the final and authoritative edition of the Scrolls, I would demonstrate both the truth of his story and the authenticity of the Scrolls themselves.

​Never let it be said that the Myles Jr. Think Tank is unaware of what is transpiring in the far-flung fields of science and technology. Some of our best thinkers are currently working on the relatively new field of nanotechnology (known to its detractors as nonotechnology).
 
For those readers who spend more time on the sports sections of newspapers than on the heavy stuff, let me explain, in brief, the nature of what the Washington Post calls “the hot young science of making invisibly tiny machines and materials.” Scientists are now able to manufacture things slighter of composition than one-thousandth the width of a human hair. This ability enables the medical crowd to create nanobots, tiny devices designed to float through human blood vessels in quest of diseases otherwise undetectable by a doctor during the annual three-minute medical exam.
 
A curious device, the nanobot. What it plans to do upon discovering a medical problem is an issue for another column. To the casual observer, the options appear to be (1) send in a more specialized nanobot to clean up the mess, (2) alert the attending physician to the problem, or (3) put in a call to the mortuary or furnace of the patient’s choice.
 
Yet there is a dispute brewing between the cautious and the bold. The nonotechnologists wish to think through the implications of this rapidly-developing field. Their concern is that nanotechnology is a potential if not actual Frankenstein, that the little machines can, perhaps even do, poison the environment and accumulate in the organs of our animal friends. Studies indeed seem to have proved this fear legitimate.
 
The bold, however, proceed with their experiments unabated, with faith in their axiom that smaller is better and that nanotechnology aggressively and intelligently practiced will solve the environmental problems with which we are obviously faced.
 
We at MJTT propose that this dispute can be resolved to the satisfaction of both parties.
 
Let us begin by stipulating that our environmental problems are caused in major part by the world’s overpopulation.
 
Given this fact, simple logic dictates that following the instincts of the bold has a distinct advantage, as can be seen in the following brief argument.
 
If unfettered nanotechnology solves our environmental problems, it solves our environmental problems, and the case is closed.
 
If, however, nonotechnology turns out to be correct—if, that is, nanotechnology is indeed a Frankenstein left to its own devices, it will be harmful to homo sapiens, i.e., it will reduce the population. Put simply, it will kill people. Put even more simply, if nanotechnology is a Trojan horse, if it fails, it will reduce the world’s overpopulation, thus solving our environmental problems, and the case is closed.
 
Thus MJTT concludes that nanotechnology, given free rein, is a win-win proposition. QED.
 
Let the nano revolution continue!
 

She buzzed around the patient, dressed in a tiny pink pant suit, armed with a line of floss.

“Open wide,” she sang.

He opened wide. 

She accidentally rubbed up against him.

He flinched.

“Relax, Rabbi Scheinblum,” she said gaily. “I’m not going to hurt you. That’s Dr. Digby’s job.”

He flinched again.

“Just kidding,” she reassured him. “My job is to take your mind off the coming pain.”

A major flinch.

She ignored this response and launched into her assignment. One of the questions she’d been asking people as she flossed them up for Dr. Digby was, what did they like best about Kirkland? If they were to name her the one thing they liked best about living in Kirkland, Kansas, one thing and one thing only, what would that one thing be?

​They’d been saying it’s a nice conservative town. Still too much crime in the streets, maybe, and it was getting a little too big, in terms of population, but basically it was still a nice conservative town, knock on wood. They’d been mentioning the friendliness of the people. They’d been saying Kirkland was the kind of a place where family values were allowed to shine through, which accounted for the friendliness. They’d also been saying it was one big happy church-going community where everybody was free to go to the religion of his own choice and there were no long-haired Socialists—she guessed that maybe now they were called Liberals (this brought an indisputable flinch)—and very, very few atheists, just a few long-haired philosophers out at the University, and nobody paid any attention to them anyway, except for maybe a few sophomores, who’d grow out of it just about the time they started applying for jobs in the appliance department at Sears.

Dramatis Personae
 
[Narrator limps down aisle with aid of a shillelagh; climbs on stage, cheeks aflame; receives trophy; exchanges innocuous cheek kisses, etc., with both formally-suited male and sheer-gowned female luminaries; accepts applause from rising, broad-smiling audience, then directs decrescendo from fortissimo to pianissimo by gesture that recalls ancient rite of laying on of hands. Reaches up toward microphone; male luminary comes forward and adjusts it for him or her; Narrator speaks, with face set toward ceiling.]

​I’d like to thank the Higher Power, or Powers—you know who you are—for sprinkling a wealth of clues in my modest corner of the earth. They greatly aided me in my quest to discover both my identity and my place in the vast arrangement of things. Without their help, I would not be standing before you today as the one who finally solved the enigma of our species’ place in the universe. Let’s give them a big hand. [Applause.]

[Casting a horizontal gaze]I’d also like to thank the little people in my life. First, Erma Cannon. If you’d please stand up, Erma . . . Rusty, could you tell Erma to stand up? . . .  There. Let’s have a big hand for Ms. Cannon. [Applause.] And for Rusty “Chuck” Stubbs, who helped Erma stand up. [Mix of laughter and applause.]

Reginald and Regina? The Wrights? Yes. Good. And a hand for them. [Applause.] Reginald is the gentleman, Regina is the lady. That’s how I learned to tell them apart. [Laughter.]

You may sit down, Erma . . . (Rusty, could you please help Erma sit down?) [Laughter; smattering of applause.]

Fine. Now, Marta Smith. Where’s Marta? Oh, there she is—she’s the one riding on a cloud, floating from table to table, collecting autographs. I hope you don’t mind. She has a colossal collection and takes every opportunity to augment it. A hand for her single-minded search for celebrity signatures. [Applause.] Wave to everybody, Marta. Isn’t she something? [Continued applause.]

Now, Professor Calloway. Is Professor Calloway here? Professor Chlöe Calloway? Rusty, have you seen Professor Calloway? No? She’s probably at home, rearranging the jots and tittles of her dissertation. [Smattering of laughter.]Don’t laugh. She inspired the title of my novel. Doesn’t that deserve a hand, in absentia? [Applause.]

And where’s Maria? Maria Flo? [Suddenly struck.]Oh, I forgot. This was the day for her screen test. [Knowledgeable laughter.] But mark my words. One of these days she’ll be standing up here, giving her own acceptance speech. [Standing ovation.] No no. [Staying expression of audience enthusiasm with charismatic yet graceful gesture of the hand.]

​Hold your applause. Save it for later. [Suddenly overcome with emotion.]What can I say?

[Preparing to leave stage.]  Thank you. [Touching fingers to lips; blowing kisses to the assembled masses.] Thank you. [Raising trophy in triumphant yet unpretentious fashion.] Thank you very much. [Bowing in acknowledgement of applause, now at fff level; bowing again; repeating, in random order, many of the above-cited tokens of reply to the general zeal; finally descending from stage, making way through a thicket of hands greedy for a mere touch o’ the garment, moving slowly but inexorably to table occupied by the little people in his life.]